


First Dates and Distracted Snakes

by silentexplorer18



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Chuck Clayton Being an Asshole, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gang Rape, Guilt, Jealous Jughead Jones, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Misunderstandings, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Supportive Jughead Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentexplorer18/pseuds/silentexplorer18
Summary: As Jughead’s attention to you wanes, you allow yourself to pursue other romantic interests.  Although you try to have a good time, you realize that bad guys lurk throughout Riverdale.  Can Jughead brighten your thoughts?
Relationships: Jughead Jones & Reader, jughead jones / reader
Kudos: 22





	First Dates and Distracted Snakes

His dark hair fell into his eyes as his little hands reached for your own dainty ones. “(Y/n),” he said softly, “will you be my girlfriend?”

You squeezed his hand gently, but shake your head, small smile adorning your lips. “Juggie, we’re too little. Ask me again when we’re older, and I’ll say yes, okay?”

He didn’t seem too forlorn from your answer, squeezing your hand back and pulling you toward the swingset. “Okay, just as long as you’ll say yes.”

* * *

It has been ten years since that day when you and Jughead Jones were children, acknowledging that you had something more than what ordinary best friends would. Despite growing up together, his asking never again graced your ears, as much as you would have wholeheartedly said yes.

Over the years, you and Jug had found a comfortable rhythm that flowed through your lives. Every day, you would get up and meet him on your porch, sharing breakfast before you set off on the walk to school. Always, always walking together, you would engage in small talk or comfortable silence, either one being something you both enjoyed. Then came classes. Those that you shared, you were hip and hip in; those that you didn’t were never that enjoyable. At lunch you would sit together, and in the student lounge. After school would come long sessions at Pop’s, where the two of you would share food and work in a state of symbiosis. He would write usually, fingertips fluttering over the keys like his life depended on them, like he couldn’t quite get the words out fast enough. You would work on homework, read, or even doodle sometimes. The spans of silence would be broken by the click of his laptop and the eventual conversation that would spur when you gave him your attention and he gave you his.

You’d been the one that pushed him toward writing this book about Jason Blossom’s death, knowing he needed a true outlet for his hyper alert, clever mind. When he started into the investigation, you supported him wholeheartedly, ordering him late night milkshakes to feed his creative mind, dragging him from the diner when it got so late he would cease to be able to function the next day if he didn’t go to bed, and helping him investigate as he saw fit. Although he was your best friend and you inarguably his, you began to notice your late nights at Pop’s together dwindling as he and the rest of the Scooby Gang, most notably Betty Cooper, began to find themselves intensely rooted in the investigation.

You tried to be positive despite the gnawing disappointment in your stomach every morning he wasn’t there to walk with you to school and every night Juggie would forget to meet you at the diner. Your study dates and biweekly dinners soon faltered from their normal schedule, and you had no idea if or when Jug would show up.

So here you were again on a Friday night, sitting glumly in your signature booth sipping a vanilla milkshake halfheartedly. Jughead was always supposed to meet you on Friday nights, another tradition. You would share a meal and discuss the events of the week, any new leads he’d found, and sometimes would conclude the night watching movies in your room. He hadn’t shown up, though, hence why you were on your second milkshake of the night. You didn’t want to admit that saving yourself the social strain of making lots of friends was proving to be a monumental mistake, but it was. Jughead had hardly talked to you in weeks, and you realized gloomily that you’d fallen lackluster to the amazing Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge.

Picking at your straw, you jumped when a body slid down in front of you. Half expecting it to be Jughead, you looked up in excitement only to realize that the beanie clad boy was not the person sitting in front of you. Instead Chuck Clayton gazed back at you with a half attractive smirk. “Out alone?” he asked, trying to avoid commenting on the crestfallen look you gave him when you realized he wasn’t the boy you wanted him to be.

You sighed a little. “Yeah. My friend forgot, I think.”

Chuck sympathized with you, carrying on a conversation for the next hour. Although he wasn’t the most charming or intelligent boy in the world, he did make you laugh, ask you about your day, and acknowledge your existence, all of which were worlds above Jughead who wouldn’t even respond to your text asking if he was okay.

That night of subtle flirting and fry sharing turned into one of many more to come. The next week, Chuck would stop in, chatting you up since Jughead couldn’t find the time to talk to you. By the end of the week, he’d asked you out on a date, stating that one of his football companions was throwing a party that he’d adore accompanying you to.

Your first instinct was to hesitate. You’d never been to a party before, and you’d also never been on a date before. Not officially, anyway. You’d been saving yourself for Jughead, just like you’d promised, but the sweet little Forsythe of your youth was the only boy to ever have asked you out. Jughead had never asked again. It was clear now, though, that he had no intention to, mind wrapped around Betty Cooper in all her charming glory.

With a blush rising to your cheeks, you accepted his invitation.

The next evening was another Friday, and you were adorned in your usual bluejeans and a Bulldogs tee shirt. You’d curled your hair lightly, applying a tiny bit of makeup to spruce up your features. You met Chuck at Pop’s Diner, blushing against his compliments as he led you down the streets of Riverdale toward your first date.

Inviting you inside, you didn’t expect the night that would follow. Chuck was quick to drink, trying to force alcohol down your throat as well. You weren’t one for the drinking, trying to suggest that maybe you should go home. Chuck pouted, trying to guilt you into staying. “Just one more dance. Please, baby?” His words made you uncomfortable, but you relented, agreeing to just one more. You wanted this date to be labeled as a success, afterall.

So you stayed, and his hands clamped against your waist, travelling rapidly down to your ass.

“Chuck, what are you-” you shouted, his lips shoving against your own to silence your protests. He pushed you up the stairs, several of his teammates trailing.

The rest of that night was a blur as his hands traveled up your body and touched every square inch. His lips met your neck, hips snapping against your own as you thrashed against his teammates’ weight. You tried to scream but someone’s lips were forced against your own, tasting like liquor and the salt of your tears. Chuck didn’t take you home; shaking, you wrapped your tattered clothes around your quaking frame and stumbled down the streets to your house. Your parents were traveling on business and would be gone for at least another month and a half, so you were free to let the hot tears of shame trickle down your cheeks when you entered the home. Ripping off what was left of your clothes, you hopped in the shower, letting the hot water burn your flesh clean of the horrors it had experienced in the darkness.

That weekend, you were holed up in your bed the whole time, ignoring the occasional buzzing of your phone even through Monday and Tuesday morning. By six Tuesday night, you were finally hungry, dragging yourself up and dressing in fresh clothes. On Saturday, you’d witnessed the photo spread across Instagram and Snapchat, flitting into group chats and ruining any chance of secrecy you’d had at keeping what happened under wraps. A photo of you barely clothed, the jocks closing in around you in a sweaty, hormonal mess. Chuck Clayton was branding you as an easy fuck, the girl who threw her virginity at him. From the photo, you just looked like a slut, not a girl who’d been raped by the team. Only people that knew you would know the lies behind the image.

But still, you needed to eat. So you drug yourself to Pop’s, perched in the farthest seat from the door, sipping on a vanilla milkshake, no cherry or whipped cream - you didn’t deserve it. Pop’s had brought you some sympathy fries that you nibbled on here and there, but for the most part you just sat quietly, dreading the days to come. Lost in thought, you didn’t notice Jughead’s approach until he’d slammed down in the seat in front of you. Your eyes flickered up to him, clearly startled. His face was hard, impassive. “How could you?” he said harshly.

“What?” you asked softly, confusion painting over your tired eyes.

“You gave your virginity to Chuck Clayton of all people? Why would you go on a date with that guy?”

Hurt flashed across your face, but your defences were up as his judgemental gaze looked down his nose at you. “Maybe because he was the only guy to ask me out,” you said incredulously, trying to ignore the pain pooling in your heart.

“But you _screwed_ Chuck. Of all the disgusting, filthy, low level things you could have done, you did that. You jumped the first guy that offered.” He tried to keep going, describing how low screwing Chuck Clayton was, but you didn’t hear him. You were rushing up from your seat, tears flooding your cheeks as your feet led you to the door.

You felt someone collide with you as you pushed through the door, Betty and Veronica staring sympathetically at you as you stumbled by, obviously flustered and emotionally unstable. You stumbled toward home while they entered the diner, making a beeline for Jughead.

“Jug, what happened?” Betty asked as she and Ronnie slid into the seat you’d been sitting in.

“She slept with Chuck,” he mumbled out, clearly angry.

Veronica rolled her eyes, “Not by choice, you nitwit.”

“What?” he asked, brows furrowing at her words.

Betty, pale and concerned, began to explain what happened, Ronnie turning her phone around to reveal the photo of your broken, defiled form. Jughead went white, grabbing his bag from the seat and rushing away from the booth, muttering an, “Oh, no,” as he went.

You’d locked the door when you’d gotten home, climbing up the stairs and falling into your fluffy sheets, tears dripping onto pillow as you realized that Jughead was right, you were a dirty slut. You’d asked for it. It was all your fault. You’d went out on a date. You were to blame.

Jughead knew your house like the back of his hand, pulling the spare key from its hiding spot and slipping into your house, locking the door behind him. He knew you’d be in your room; that was always your go to when you were feeling sad.

He ascended the stairs quietly, stepping gently into your room. His heart broke when he saw your weak figure sobbing into your pillows. Bending down, he enveloped you in his arms. Your first instinct was to panic, thrashing against his body until you heard his soothing voice in your ear. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s me. You’re safe, (Y/n). You’re safe.”

Just as quickly as you’d started thrashing, you stilled, tears still dripping from your puffy eyes. “Juggie, I’m so sorry,” you whispered against his chest.

“What? Why?”

“It’s my fault,” you whispered, tears starting to rapidly fall again as your breathing hitched. “You were right. It’s my fault. I was low and dirty and bad. I’m so sorry, Jughead.”

“No, no, no,” he murmured, holding you close to his chest and shushing you. “It’s not your fault. None of it was your fault. They hurt you, and they shouldn’t have, and I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

You stayed nuzzled in his arms for a while, hiccupping and sniffling as he whispered soothing words in your hair. “Why’d you come here?” you croaked out after a while, looking up into his eyes.

Jughead rested his forehead against yours, his sigh fanning across your damp cheeks. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. And I’m the fool that got you into this, so I should be the one that helps you through it.” You looked at him quizzically, and he knew what you wanted to ask before you had the chance to say it. “I should’ve asked you out,” his voice grew low, and his demeanor shifted from comforting to shy. “If I had, you never would have been in the situation you were.”

“Juggie,” you sniffled, “it isn’t your fault. I should’ve waited. You were always the one that I wanted.”

“(Y/n), would you be my girlfriend?” he whispered softly.

You smiled, an equal grin forming on his lips. “Yes. I’d love to, Jughead.” After a pause, you flopped back on the bed, letting out a sigh. “But I’m so dirty, Jug. How could you want me?” He started to protest, but you cut him off. “I lost my virginity to Chuck Clayton,” you groaned.

“Did you want to?”

You looked back up at him. “Of course not.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said, taking your hand. “You’re just as clean as ever, (Y/n). You didn’t give your virginity away, you had a part of you taken. But you are still as pure as untouched snow. Don’t think for a second you’re dirty for not giving yourself away.”

Reaching up to his shoulders, you pulled him down next to you, snuggling into his chest warmly. “Can we just stay here?”

He hummed softly. “Yes, but we’ve gotta go to school tomorrow,” you let out a whine. “It’s okay. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

Gently, he kissed your forehead, wrapping his comforting arms around you as the two of you drifted off into a safe, protected slumber.

* * *

The next morning, you put on a pair of jeans, a black tank top, and pulled a baseball cap over your head. You tried to look in the mirror, feel comfortable in your own skin, but you still felt out of place. Jughead stepped up behind you, his reflection revealing everything strong and brave you wanted to be. “I just don’t feel brave enough, Juggie,” you whispered.

“Hey, you are,” he comforted gently, pulling his signature flannel from his shoulders and sliding it over your arms, the finishing touch to your armor.

That first day back wasn’t easy, the whispered words of Riverdale High swirling around you like a cloud of smoke. But despite the hungry stares of Chuck Clayton and the hateful gaze of Cheryl Blossom, you clung to the notion that you were enough, catching Jughead’s eye in every hallway to give you strength.

You may have been cheated your first kiss, your first time, but that didn’t matter. Chuck was just a nasty memory that you could push away and forget with time. Jughead, he was forever, and now you didn’t have to wait for forever to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my fic! I hope you enjoyed it. You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://silentexplorer18.tumblr.com/).


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